


ghost of a tyrant

by mannelig



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Introspection, M/M, Miklan was a bastard, Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, there are some bad implications here but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannelig/pseuds/mannelig
Summary: Miklan’s voice gets closer, softer. “You’ll never have that. And even if you could, I’d take it from you.”Sylvain is haunted.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 194





	ghost of a tyrant

Words drip from his mouth like honey, but Sylvain doesn’t hear them anymore. It doesn’t matter, not when it always ends the same way. He’s slept with so many women that they blurred together long ago.

His inattention doesn’t go unnoticed this time and he finds himself alone again. The market is bright and busy, and Sylvain stands in the middle feeling nothing. It happens more and more lately. Their missions have gotten dangerous, and girls aren’t the pleasant distraction they’d once been. Besides, he keeps finding himself drifting towards the ones with dark hair and pale skin and the wrong calluses on their fingers. It’s too close to the one thing he can’t have.

As if they have a mind of their own, Sylvain’s feet carry him to the training yard. He allows it because he’s nothing if not a masochist, and hears Felix’s blade striking the dummies long before he sees him.

He’s beautiful and deadly, his every move efficient. Sylvain could watch him for hours. Has, actually, often under the guise of training himself. Usually it ends very badly for him, but it’s worth every bruise just to get a glimpse of Felix in action. He settles against a pillar, arms crossed, and watches as Felix executes a series of complicated moves that his eye can barely follow. Sylvain is pretty sure the dummies have been replaced more times since Felix arrived at Garreg Mach than they have in the history of the officer’s academy.

“What do you want?” Felix asks without pausing.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanna catch dinner,” Sylvain calls back. “My treat!”

Felix shoots him an unreadable look, then rolls his shoulders. “Fine. I’m almost done anyway.”

Traitor heart thundering in his chest, Sylvain says, “I’ll wait right here.”

He hears Felix grumble something about how he ought to be training instead, but he doesn’t push the issue, so Sylvain pretends not to hear. Instead he watches Felix move, greedily drinks in the graceful lines of his body, and tries not to think about all the ways he can never have him.

All the while, Miklan’s mocking voice haunts him better than a ghost ever could.

 _“You in love with him?”_ Miklan whispers, fingers tight around Sylvain’s arm. _“Or do you just wanna fuck him? Hell, I can’t blame you. He’s pretty, isn’t he?”_

Sylvain never answers, and the grip gets tighter. Fingernails dig in deep. Even now, he expects to see little red crescents on his skin.

_“I bet you want to marry him. I’ve got news for you little brother - you don’t get that.”_

Miklan’s voice gets closer, softer. _“You’ll never have that. And even if you could, I’d take it from you.”_

The worst thing is, Sylvain knows his brother’s right. He has a Crest, he has a duty to pass it on, and he’ll never be allowed to live the life he wants. Even if he could, Sylvain knows better than to think Felix returns his feelings. He doesn’t deserve it, and he isn’t that lucky.

Bright eyes startle him out of his thoughts. “Are you ready?” Felix asks grumpily, and Sylvain feels a grin spreading across his face.

“Born ready,” he says.

  
  


“Sylvain?”

_“Sylvain.”_

He lifts his head from his arms and blinks up at Dimitri, who stares down at him with a face like a worried owl. “Hey,” he says, grinning, and sits up. “What can I do for you?”

Dimitri slides into the chair opposite him and glances around the library to make sure no one’s listening. It’s both endearing and pointless. No one’s been here in hours.

_“He doesn’t see what you are yet.”_

“I’m worried about you,” Dimitri says. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well lately.”

Sylvain props his head up on his hand and waggles his eyebrows. “Well, what can I say? I keep busy.”

This earns him a look. “No, you don't,” Dimitri replies with astonishing bluntness.

The rest of what he says is lost in Miklan’s laughter. Sylvain digs his fingers into his arm to try and focus. “I’m fine,” he says brightly.

“Sylvain-”

_“He’s going to find out at this rate.”_

He stands abruptly, startling his friend, his king, and pulls on a tight, brittle smile. “I’m fine, Your Highness,” he all but snarls, and guilt floods him at the look on Dimitri’s face. He bows, then hurries out of the library.

  
  


“Leave me the fuck alone,” he whispers into the dark. In the other room, he can hear the sound of Dimitri muttering.

 _“Never,”_ Miklan whispers back, and he can feel his brother’s hands. One is on his throat. _“You’ll never be free.”_

Sylvain closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing.

  
  


Felix’s hand is slick with blood. None of it, Sylvain knows, is his own, so he takes it gladly and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

“Horse,” he croaks, and Felix shakes his head.

“Long gone by now,” he says. He frowns as he looks Sylvain over. “You’re hurt.”

Sylvain waves his free hand dismissively, even as the other continues to hold tight to Felix. For the first time in months, he feels light, like he’s free of Miklan just for a little while. Maybe it’s the concussion talking. “I’m fine,” he says, and barely stops himself from adding something worse, something incriminating. Felix doesn’t need to know he’s in love with him. Instead he repeats, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fucking fine,” Felix growls. “You’re bleeding.”

 _“That’s what happens when you’re a fucking moron,”_ Miklan says, and Sylvain _flinches_. He doesn’t mean to. Usually he’s better about not reacting to the shit his brother says. He lets go of Felix’s hand.

“I- you’re right. I should go find Mercedes,” he says, and leaves before he has to see the look on Felix’s face.

  
  


He finds himself in Felix’s bed a few nights later, because he’s drunk and stupid. Felix is being remarkably patient about the whole thing, despite being wedged up against the wall.

“I can’t believe I fell off my horse,” Sylvain whines, head drooping on his friend’s shoulder, because it’s better than admitting he doesn’t know how he got here.

Felix huffs, breath ruffling Sylvain’s hair. “I can,” he mutters. “You’ve been training even less than usual.”

Sylvain hums in assent, mumbles something nonsensical, presses his cold nose to Felix’s warm neck. Ignores his friend’s half-hearted shove. He wants to savor this moment, remember how it feels to have Felix in his arms. He has no right to it, he knows, but Sylvain has always been greedy. He never needed Miklan to tell him that.

“-stop relying on that Crest you hate,” Felix is saying. “If you really cared about Ingrid and I, you’d try harder.”

 _How do I make you understand,_ Sylvain thinks, _that my life is worth nothing compared to yours? How can I possibly be worth anything to either of you?_

He says nothing, only slows his breathing as if he’s falling asleep. Eventually, Felix sighs and gets comfortable, even going so far as to drape an arm over him, and Sylvain lays awake for a long time, feeling emptier than usual.

  
  


Sometimes, he wishes he’d gotten to kill Miklan himself.

The professor hadn’t brought him at all, and there are times when he’s deeply grateful for this. But other times, he hates her for it. Hates her for bringing _Felix_ even though she knew nothing about anything. He’s glad it was Felix who got the final blow, but he wishes he hadn’t had to.

He wishes he could’ve found out if he had the courage to do it.

(He knows he wouldn’t have.)


End file.
